Tales of Terror
by Shizuka no Taisho
Summary: B brings to life four popular fairy tales, giving them his own frightening little twist. Mellylocks, Little Mail, Sheep Boy, and dear Princess Aurora...each shall have an encounter with the psychopath, but will they live to tell the tale? ;  read and see
1. The Tale of Mellylocks

_**Before you even read on, let me warn you now. This is going to be a twisted set of stories. Each one is connected to the other, and they make up a sickening web of macabre insanity when read as a whole. They are gruesome, filled to the brim with fairy tale elements, but not the sugar plum crap they spoon feed kids. Nono. These are the dark and grisly tales, orchestrated now by a very familiar and psychotic little genius by the name of B. He is the bear, witch, wolf and dragon to our dear little "heroes", as you will come to see. But really, all he wants is his own happy ending ;)**_

_**So…if you think you can handle the blood, gore, terror and fright, then feel free to keep reading.**_

_**Authoress Note: again, this story will be broken up into four parts. This is the first, and I promise that the next three will follow soon enough. The tales are listed below:**_

_**-Story One: The Tale of Mellylocks**_

_**-Story Two: The Tale of Little Mail**_

_**-Story Three: The Tale of Sheep Boy**_

_**-Story Four: The Tale of Aurora**_

_**Each tale is based off of a popular fairy tale….(and some RP's ;) love you Mells!) well, sort of. The characters are more named after those popular iconic fairy tale counterparts because each one possesses elements that our DN boys can relate to. But you will see the story elements winded into each tale's core, along with several others. Watch carefully, yeah? XD**_

_**Now, to all my BBxKira fans out there….this isn't related to the set of one-shots I've been writing. Not at ALL. Blood and Strawberries, Face to Face? They have nothing to do with this. But just wait and see. Things are never what they seem. **_

…_**..enjoy the stories darling.**_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note. I don't own the fairy tales that are implemented here either. So no suing me lovelies. Otherwise you might end up with a tale of your own ;) Just kidding, of course. _

B carefully straightened the bow in his hair, tongue between his teeth as he made sure the frilly accessory was perfectly placed in his askew strands. He grinned at his reflection, cherry red lips with garnet liner a grisly parody of the age old phrase. "Lips as red as blood…." he crooned to himself. Picking at a spot of wax that had smeared onto his teeth, B glanced at the reflection in his vanity mirror and purred, admiring the prone figure lying innocently on his bed sheets.

Skin pale as snow, save for the mass of pink and brown that marred his left side from temple to shoulder, puckered and rough to the touch. Lips the color of fresh cream, balanced by heady blue eyes and long, curling lashes. Asleep, they made him look rather delicate, even with the scar toughening his features. But B knew perfectly well that there was a fire churning within the little blond unconscious on his sheets. It seared, fueling a temper and silver tongue that could throw the cruelest of barbs, and the most potent of lies.

Not the best traits for a doll like Melly, but ah well. He liked them unique.

Smirking, he moved over to the bed, gloved fingers sweeping a lock of tatty gold behind Mello's ear. Of all the world's denizens, he would know best just how cruel Mello could be. It was a trait they shared, one amongst many in an ever-growing list he was mentally assembling. Fighting for the title of L was number one…or maybe number two. Burns held priority. "You need to wake up," he poked a hollow cheekbone, dotting the already pale flesh with a spot of white. Mello stirred, but didn't awaken, earning a huff and finger nibble from the older male. "Damn little blondes….."

No wonder they made for such perfect damsels in distress. Stupid things couldn't even sense when they were in danger. "Waiting for your Hansel, Melly dear?" B hid a laugh behind his hand, faint giggles still permeating the room like poisoned gas. "I'm afraid he won't be coming." After all, there was only room for one Aurora here, and he was asleep in his bed at home, awaiting to be rescued by the prince. His love….

Oh, shame on him. He was thinking too far ahead in the tale.

B dropped onto the foot of the bed, staring petulantly at Mello. He waited, and waited some more, growing more anxious each second. When was he going to wake up? He couldn't truly begin until the little doll was awake. It was rude to draw on somebody as they slept, and he was fairly sure that extended to other…_circumstances_….as well. Grumbling, he swishes his fingers through the air, imagining there were sheep flying over his head. "One albino, two albino, three-oh look, that one's bloody….." he cackled to himself, nearly missing the murmur of awakening on his bed. "Ohh? Finally awakening, dear little doll?"

Mello didn't seem to hear him. That, or the drugs B had pumped into his system were still ravaging his rather slight frame. He sat up and groaned, his body racked with tremors. "Wha-what the hell?" Pale eyes fluttered open, clouded around the edges and rimmed with exhaustion. "...nghh.." Mello blinked, glancing around, and then his gaze slowly focused in on the grinning B sitting on the bed. "...fucking great. B."

"Aww, aren't you glad to see me," B cooed, leaning close. His captive smelled of chocolate, and fear. What a delectable combination. Could definitely use some blood though. "It's been so long! You're all grown up now…" he reached out, fingertips inches from Mello's face. "Still such a pretty little thing. I'm glad. I would've been very disappointed if those good looks had faded."

There was no point in having an ugly doll, after all.

"Save it," Mello slapped his hand away, lips twisting into a frown. Aww. It really didn't suit him. "How the fuck did you even manage to find me? Last I heard, they'd chucked your sorry ass into prison." The unsaid where-you-belong rang clearly through the air, and it made B sulk at the foot of the bed, his arms crossing almost petulantly.

"I AM a genius. Give me some credit." Leaping forward, he straddled Mello's hips and forced him back onto the sheets, red eyes painfully bright as he gently smoothed back golden hairs, curling them round and around his fingers. "And really Mello, you should know better. We're Wammy boys! No prison can hold us." But it was such fun seeing them try….B nipped harder at his fingers, holding back the peals of laughter tickling his vocal chords. Nono. Wouldn't do to upset the little blond so soon. "Besides, iron bars only work on vampires!"

Cocking a brow, Mello withdrew as far as he could, pale face grimacing in disgust. "Yeah? Great B, that's fantastic." He rammed a knee into the older man's back. "Planning on letting me up?"

_Ding_.

The soft chime went off behind his closed bedroom door, and B clapped his hands, bounding off Mello. "Oh, it's done! Come on Melly, I have a surprise for you!" He grabbed the blond by his forearm, yanking him off the bed where he'd been sleeping and hurling open the bedroom door, skipping down the long, pitch black hallway. Behind him B heard Mello gasp in pain, and he laughed, throwing him out of the hall and into the tiny living room of his apartment. "Careful! The floors are slippery!"

Mello hit the floor and yelped, rolling onto his knees, blue irises livid and bright with rage. "This isn't a game! What the hell do you want, B?"

"Now now, no ruining the surprise." B waggled his finger at the golden haired male. "What a naughty boy you are. Have some patience, and all shall be revealed!" Pulling him to his feet, he led a resisting Mello over to a battered wooden chair, old leather belts dangling from the armrests. There was a tiny tea table sitting before the chair, its top scattered with dainty dishes and china pots filled with sweets and tea. It went unnoticed for now by the blond, as Mello was staring at the chair with raw horror.

"No! No fucking way B! You're not putting me in that!"

Laughing, B rammed his foot hard against Mello's chest, forcing him to slam down into the rickety piece of furniture. Mello struggled, but the belts were applied around his wrists and ankles, straps digging into his naked flesh. B tightened both of them until Mello hissed at him, shaking the chair in futile attempts at escape. "Aww, Mello, what's the matter? You should be smiling! This is a happy day, after all! Dear princess is coming down from her tower, and I've prepared a big feast to celebrate!" Smiling a toothy leer at his captive, he rounded the table and swam his fingers through a dish of jam, sucking the sweet away. "C'mon. Give me a smile!"

Scowling at him, the mafia overlord jerked his face away. Well, that just certainly wouldn't do. "I saaaiiiidddd…" he climbed over the table, knocking dishes and sweets to the floor. "SMILE!" B plopped down onto his lap and dug two fingers into Mello's mouth, forcing his lips up into a grin that would've put the Joker to shame. "Ah, there we go!"

Mello yanked his head away, struggling under his bonds. "Fuck! Don't touch me, you psycho!"

B wriggled his fingers against Mello's tongue, feeling the slick muscle yank away and teeth replace it. He pulled his hand back, glaring at his now smirking captive. "That wasn't very nice. You shouldn't call people names."

"Yeah? Neither is kidnapping," Mello spat at him, his smirk growing as the slick spittle stained the front of B's corseted dress. Grimacing, he wiped at it with a gloved hand.

"You're really making this entirely too personal. It was a surprise! I couldn't let you see where we were going." He surprised the teen by smashing his lace covered palms against Mello's cheeks, making his lips pucker out into a cute, albeit odd, grimace. "Cute little fishie..."

He was up and off Mello's lap barely before the blond could retaliate, staring at the scattered tea setting he'd disrupted. "Aww...there goes all my hard work."

Mello popped his jaw with a wince, glaring icily at B's back. "Your own fault."

B turned, lips up in a vicious smile. "But Melly, I'm mad as a hatter! You can't blame me." Lifting sticky fingers to his chin, he tapped them back and forth, back and forth, his breath half wild and scattered with giggles. "The courts didn't."

"….they did. Dumbass. You were sentenced to multiple lifetimes in prison!" The fighting against his bonds died down, and Mello leaned back in the chair, huffing. "You escaped, obviously."

B snickered at him. "Is that what Lawli told you? How stupid. I never went to prison!" He climbed onto the tea table, spreading out his red stained skirts. "Mad as a hatter...into the nuthouse I went..." throwing his head back, B sighed. "...gotta say, I miss my padded cell. It was pretty comfy."

Mello flinched once more, scooting back in his seat as far as possible. "Let me go then. I'll make sure you're returned to it. Hell, I'll throw in a straightjacket, just for old time's sakes."

Laughing, B dropped his foot, choosing to swing both off the table. "How sweet of you, Melly! But nono, too much to do! Besides, they think I'm dead." Picking up a cup of tea, B took a sip. "You'd give them all a terrible fright, dragging me back in there. Probably give a few of the poor guards heart attacks too. And however would you explain that? They might think you're Kira." He wrinkled his nose, swishing the tea around in his mouth. "Needs...something. Melly, what do you think?"

"How would I k-gahh!" Mello gagged as fingers were forced into his mouth again, and steaming tea poured down his throat. His nose and eyes burned, the bitter taste nothing like the rich chocolate he all but lived on.

"Too bitter? I'm not Lawli, try as I might, but I do like my tea on the sweet side." The china was tossed against the wall, shattering in a splash of tea remnants and chipped porcelain. "Maybe some stew would be more to your liking? You must be starving, after all. Those nasty meds always made me as hungry as a wolf." B smiled nastily, or maybe that was just the lipstick making his expression unhinged. Moving a tureen of chipped blue china over to him, he lifted the lid and a cloud of steam hit him in the face. "Ahh...smells delightful." He bounded into the adjoining kitchen, watched guardedly by Mello. Another timer went off as he was in there, and Mello raised a brow, somewhat awed.

"Never pegged you as the housewife type." He nodded to frilly pink apron and oven mitts the maniac was pulling on. "Or the type to cook, for that matter. Thought you lived off of jam."

B wiggled his hips, skirts dancing side to side and revealing a slip of bloodstained petticoat. "Of course I can cook!" From the oven he pulled a broiling pan, in its center a thick slab of…was that roast? B tasted the juices leaking out of the meat, purred, and sat it aside. Yum yum. Warm, meaty, and delicious. "Cooking is something everyone should be able to do. It's a very relaxing hobby."

Mello glanced at the tureen. There was a good several helpings of a thick, meaty looking stew inside, and try as he might, he couldn't deny that it smelled delightful. But it was B. No fucking way was he taking a single bite. "Never picked it up myself."

B was back at his side in a matter of seconds, holding a bowl and still wearing the ridiculous apron. "Somehow, I'm not surprised." He ladled out some of the stew held it out to Mello, red stains on his lips. "Want to try some?"

"…no thanks. I'm fine."

Awww, playing the cordial card now? That was so precious. B just loved a rousing game of make believe. "Now don't be shy. You're my guest. You can have anything you want..." he purred the last part, shifting so his tattered skirts parted and bared a fishnet clad thigh. Mello ignored it, pursing his lips.

"I'm good B."

"But I insist. Have some." The bowl was jammed against Mello's lips, and B grinned. "I can always make you….. "

Mello grimaced, looking at the thick liquid. The china clicked on his teeth, urged forward, and he sighed, taking a swallow.

….holy shit. The soup was pretty good. Not too spicy, mixed with a few random vegetables, it ran comfortingly down his throat. He chewed a piece of meat as it all but melted across his tongue, a world of spices exploding in his mouth. "I made it just for you. The catch of the day." B chimed in, and Mello sputtered, spilling a few streams of hot liquid down his chin. That was not a comforting phrase, coming from a known cannibalistic psychopath! "Oh, now look what you've done! You've ruined your clothes! And look at your face. It's filthy." Placing a hand on his hip, B wagged a scolding finger. "So rude. Roger should've taught you better manners." He watched Mello wipe his mouth on his shoulder, holding back a smile. His meager attempts were just sweet as can be.

A gory smear on his lips, Mello shuddered, staring at him hatefully. "B. Shut the fuck up."

Sighing, B shook his head. "Language darling." Taking back the bowl, he took a healthy sip of the stew, gleeful at the horror on his little blond's face. His comment had really hit home, it would seem. "Well, I was going to let you finish your soup before getting to the next surprise." Swallowing the last mouthful, he tossed the bowl aside. "Buuuut…..since you ruined things….I guess it's time to move on." And the tea table was swept clean with a flourish of his hands, making way for the large black box he dropped on the scarred surface.

Blue eyes darted to the box, frowning in worry of its contents. "…."

Unlocking the lid, he dumped the contents onto the table. Makeup. A model's worth of blushes, eyeshadows, lipsticks and glosses spilled out, and he picked up an eyelash curler, clicking it playfully at Mello. "Time to play dress up!"

"….wait, what?" The blond had never looked so utterly flabbergasted. "WHAT?"

B ignored him, bouncing gleefully. "Oh, I always did want a dolly back in the Whammy days! But Roger wouldn't let me have one. Said they were too _girly_." Jutting out his lower lip, he dragged a chair over to Mello's side, patting his tatty hair. "Eww...haven't you ever heard of conditioner? Your hair's so dry."

Mello tugged away. "You're one to talk! My hair is trashed because of, oh, I don't know? A BOMB?"

"That was your own fault. Blowing yourself up, really. Of all the stupi-" breaking off, B clutched at his own feathery locks. "Eh? What's wrong with my hair?" He was suddenly in Mello's face, red eyes wide and lips spread in a gruesome scowl. "What is it? Is it too long? Too wild?" His hair had to be perfect! He couldn't have inadequacy! Not today of all days! "TELL ME WHAT'S WRONG WITH IT!"

"…..looks like L's…" Mello muttered, blinking at the red pits honed in on him. A panicking B was really a terrifying sight. "You know, except for that bow."

"….really?" Clasping his hands together, black hairs still caught between his fingers, B leaned over and pressed a hard kiss to Mello's cheek. "That's so sweet of you to say!" His smile darkened, and he rubbed away the mark, fingers stilling on the pale flesh to almost a caress. "I could just eat you up..." he pinched Mello's cheek, tongue darting out to seam pallid lips. Leaning in close, he smirked, and then seemed to snap out of it all at once. "No..nono. You're not to eat! Bad B."

Staring at him in unabashed horror, Mello shuddered. B noticed, and shook his cheek. "Why so serious? I just said I'm not going to eat you..."

"Coming from you? Not all that comforting. Don't have to eat someone to make them suffer."

He stared at the blond, expression sullen. Really, was there no pleasing him? "Well, do you WANT to be eaten?"

Mello balked. "…no."

"…not even a nibble?"

"Fuck no!"

"...spoilsport." Sighing, B curled his legs up, picking at the ruffled edge of his apron. "Ah well...I'll find a snack later I guess...maybe have some more of that stew, or some ribs." He rolled his head back, dropping it against the chair. From Mello's angle, he likely looked headless. How delightful. "...now, what was I saying? Oh! Makeup!" His hand dropped away from Mello's cheek, fingering a strand of golden hair. He made a face, dropping it. "But first, we have to do something about your hair. It's atrocious."

"I like my hair," Mello snapped. B shrugged, climbing off the chair.

"But I DON'T. And this is MY game, so what I say GOES." He smiled sweetly, garish lips parting and revealing glimmers of pink flecked teeth. "Now, don't move! I have to run to the bathroom." Prancing towards the door, he waved at the blond, his smile turning perverted for a moment. "On second thought, move. I like my prey to wriggle." B laughed and ran down the hall, hearing his name and a swear before he disappeared into the bathroom. Melly really did have a colorful vocabulary. "Hmm…..where did I-oh, there you are!" He plucked up the bucket from the corner, rinsing it out on the tub. It was squeaky clean by the time he switched the water to hot, filling it to the brim. Wouldn't do to have his pet freezing!

Ooo…it did burn something fierce though. B grimaced as several splashes hit the front of his dress, soaking through his apron, and he lugged the bucket out the door, making it scoot across the floor. Stupid thing. "Mello my dear! Ready to get clean?"

Staring at him, Mello deadpanned. "Say what?"

B dropped the bucket in front of him, sloshing water and suds across the floor. "Such a rude guest. Doesn't even offer to help! No jam for you! And to think, I was going to break open my special jar." He tapped fingers across Mello's scalp, shaking his head and admiring the still working belts around Mello's wrists and ankles. "Oh...wow, you haven't gotten free yet? You're such a lazy doll."

"…..go fuck yourself."

"I have. Doesn't live up to the real thing, let me tell you." He stared at Mello, hooking a painted nail into his mouth. "How to do this...hmmmm..." glancing at the bucket, then back to Mello, B whined. "This is too hard! You just have to make everything difficult, don't you?" His gaze went from the bucket, to Mello, then back to the bucket, and red eyes lit up. He nudged the chair, pushing it back a few inches. "Heh…heheheh." He jumped behind the chair, gripping it tightly. "Hope you can hold your breath!"

Eyes flew wide with horror. "What? B, don't you dare!"

Mello didn't get a chance to say much more. B tipped the chair over, forcing Mello's face to splash into the bucket below. He sputtered, fighting hard, but a spidery hand forced him under, nails viciously scrubbing his scalp. "Cleaning, cleaning..." humming happily, B scrubbed harder, yelping in surprise when faint trickles of red began to leak out of the pale strands. "Hey! I just cleaned that!" He whacked the back of Mello's head, yanking him up. Mello gasped for air, spitting water onto the floor and thrashing.

"Fu-fuck! Let go, you psychopath! You're going to kill me!"

"What was that?" B leaned down, pressing his ear to Mello's temple. "I'm not clean enough?" Pulling back and smiling in mad ecstasy, he kicked his feet against the floor, sniggering. "Well, you're the dolly! I guess you would know!"

"Wait! B, you sonofa-gah!" Mello nearly swallowed a mouthful of water, gagging as he was forced neck deep into the bucket. His wrists fought against the chair, along with his knees, until both were rubbed raw under the leather and nearly crimson. B paid no mind. He scrubbed Mello's hair, adding a dab from the tiny bottle of shampoo he'd brought. Soaping up the locks, his nails dug relentlessly into them, scraping skin and cleaning away all sense of 'filth', until there was nothing but pure silk in his hand. Only then did B kick the bucket away and drop Mello's head, making a pale cheek smack against the battered floor.

"There we go! All clean!"

Gasping, Mello spat out the water in his mouth, glowering at him under his sodden bangs. "Jesus, you're crazy…" "Fucking mental!"

A combat boot collided with his head. "Oops! So sorry." Yanking the chair upright, B smiled at Mello. "Don't you feel better now?"

"….ghnn…." he spat more onto the floor water.

"Hmm? Noo?" B slapped his forehead, looking horrified. "Oh, of course you don't! Your hair is all wet!" He ran back to the bathroom, grabbing a fluffy towel. "We'll fix that!"

Mello cringed, watching him come back into the room like a mouse would a cat. He was prey, and he knew it. "S-stay away! Don't you touch me! I swear to God B, I'll fucking kill you!"

Holding the towel innocently in his hands, the darker haired male frowned. "But Melly, we have to dry your hair! What if you get sick?" He pounced, rasping Mello's head with the soft fabric. No skin or hair was left untouched. Only after a minute or so did B peek under the towel. "Dry yet? You can't curl wet hair, after all."

"Cu-curl?"

The towel was thrown away, and B ran across the room, dragging an extension cord plugged into the electrical outlet over to the table. He dropped it onto the one bit of free space, withdrawing a curling iron he'd been concealing in the folds of his skirt and turning it on, the metal roller growing warm almost immediately. B smirked, tapping the plastic tip against his lips. "Hmm...small curls...loose waves...what do you think, Melly my dear?" He a strand of Mello's hair, curling it absently around his finger. "I was thinking china doll curls myself..."

Shocked, Mello managed a soft "no more burns. Fuck B, don't burn me."

Fuck, what could he do but stare in awe at this point?

"BURNS?" Jerking away, B looked at him, pure horror on his face. Is THAT what Mello was thinking? That he was going to burn him? "Why would I burn you? You're my dolly! You have to be perfect!" His fingers swept across the ruined half of Mello's face, earning a scowl from the blond. "Don't give me that look. You managed this aaalll by yourself. Silly goose. Blowing up a building." Clucking his tongue, B set down the curler and grabbed a pair of scissors off the table. Mello paled, staring at the tool.

"...what're you doing with those scissors?"

B snipped the scissors close to his groin, earning a flinch. "Well, I can't let you out of the chair. You'll run away. But those clothes…ugh. Mello, dear, you really need new tastes in fashion. These rags are just hideous. They have to come off." He stabbed the metal into the leg of Mello's pants, ripping the twin blades upward and tearing through the leather like it was butter. Yelping, Mello fought, or rather tried to, but his pants were slashed apart up to his grin and promptly torn away. "...oooo..." glancing between his legs, B giggled to himself, poking Mello's cock. "I love it when dolls are anatomically correct!"

"Don't touch me!" Kicking his heels against the floorboards, the blond paled more, eying his finger like it was a snake, ready to lash.

"Stop that! You're messing up your posture!" B thumped him on the head, picking up the curler. "Stay still." He jabbed Mello on the nose with it. "Otherwise your pretty face won't be the only thing burned."

Crawling into his naked lap, B wiggled his hips and settled against Mello, ignoring their flushed groins and attacking tawny hair with the curler. No strands were left untouched, each one undergoing a radical transformation from straight and ragged to perfectly curled, gleaming innocence. B had his tongue between his teeth the whole time, expression set in determination. Perfect, perfect….had to be perfect. Aurora wouldn't forgive him if a single hair was out of place.

Finally, the curler was taken away. "There! All done!"

"…you satisfied?"

Damn him, he was such a pretty peach. He looked so hopeful!

Pity that he was about to knock all those hopes and reams right on their asses.

Smiling to himself, B unplugged the curler, tossing it aside. "Don't be silly. We have so much more to do!" Slipping off him back into his chair, he admired his work. What he wouldn't give for a camera. "You're so pale...like porcelain," he touched Mello's unblemished cheek, then his lips and chin. "Skin like snow…...but you need some color in your cheeks." That was followed up by a near sadistic look towards the table. "I guess it's time for makeup!"

Mello looked…less than eager. Oh goodie. That made things even better!

First things first. B wiped Mello's face down with the towel and sifted through the makeup, choosing a bottle of foundation. Mello was so pale. Almost as pale as him. "We have to preserve that pretty skin of yours." He shook the tiny bottle, uncapping the top to pump a few squirts of the creamy makeup onto his fingers. "Too bad we don't have any formaldehyde!"

"Fan-fucking-tastic," Mello hissed at him. "At the rate you're going, I think I'd prefer that. It'd kill me a lot quicker."

"You're so optimistic," B crooned. Three coated fingers smashed into a high cheekbone, smearing the makeup down Mello's face and rubbing it in, him laughing all the while. "Dollies should have a better outlook on life!"

Mello cringed a bit, shutting his eyes to keep from getting makeup in them. B was careful though, carefully rubbing it in, avoiding scar tissue as well as he could. "…heh." Picking up a powder blush, he dipped it into the nearby tin of soft powder and began setting the foundation. His hand was practiced, and the makeup went on smoothly, turning Mello's already pale face the color of fresh milk. "You know, you look like Goldilocks." His fingers twitched across the makeup, and he picked up three shadows; pink, silver, and an ice blue that perfectly matched the brightly colored irises glaring him down. "You better be happy. I bought these just for you! Can't have you getting pink eye, after all." He stuck his tongue out in a grimace, opening the silver and dabbing a brush into it. "Now close your eyes..."

"….fucking hell." Mello did as told, a shudder rolling down his spine. B smirked. The obedience was a delightful new treat. He wondered how long it would hold out.

"Good boy…." he dabbed Mello's eyelids with the silver, blending it up to the crease. "Hmmm..." tonguing his lips, he added the pink next, highlighting the spot under Mello's brow bone and the corners of his eyes. Had to give him some bloody color, and bring out those pretty orbs. "Aww, you're so cute!" Tossing the pink aside, B plucked up the blue shadow. "You came here a ratty Gretel, but look at you now! All clean and shining." He grinned, smearing pale ice over the top half of the silver eyeshadow and blending them together. "Mascara...where did that silly thi-oh, there it is!" He plucked it off the table, along with the eyelash curler. "...you have pretty lashes. You don't need this." It was dropped unceremoniously to the floor, and B waved the mascara wand. "Open wide Melly."

Mello cringed. Did he just say, Melly? Hesitantly, his eyes pried themselves open enough to glance up at B. "….."

B rubbed the mascara over the fine golden hairs, painting them an inky black. "Ooooo...I might wanna keep you after this..." dropping the mascara, he grabbed a tube of lipstick and unscrewed it. Candy pink. Eww, gross. He grimaced, grabbing another. A cool pink, tinged with red. "Here we go." The waxy substance was pointed at Mello's lips, and B bobbed it up and down. "Say ahhhhhh!"

Made up eyes wide, Mello hesitantly parted them. "You can't be serious….."

"As serious as a heart attack." B smeared the lipstick on Mello's pale lips, dyeing them vivid pink. Next came a shimmering gloss, and he applied that too with a practiced grace that spoke more than actual words. Of course, his own face was made up with sparkly black eyeshadow and dark red lipstick. Experience was something he certainly possessed. "Blush, blush, I need my blush..." glancing around, B puckered out his mouth. "Mello, I can't find my blush!"

"Why do I care?"

The blond seemed determined to glare at him the entire night. Phooey.

Sighing and chewing his lip, B glanced at Mello's hands, then at his cheeks. "...oh. That could work." He grabbed the scissors off the table, clicking them open. "Hold still."

"Hold still? What the fuck are you doing? B, what the hell?" For the first time in several minutes, Mello actually looked panicked. That was genuine horror flaming in his eyes, and it made B all excited. He was warm and fuzzy inside, truly. "B! Get those scissors away from me!"

The scissors made a snip-snip. "Melly, did you know? In olden days, people would pierce their fingers and use the blood as blush." B stabbed Mello's index finger with the sharp point, drawing a gleaming bead of blood. Mello hissed in pain, trying to yank his hand away but to no avail. "Rather medieval….but considering the theme here, seems pretty appropriate." Dabbing his fingers in the blood, B painted circles on Mello's cheeks, rubbing the blood into his ivory makeup and staining it a pale red. "Awww...you're pretty, and lovely, and oh so fine!"

Mello stared with narrowed eyes, barely moving as his finger was wiped clean. "B. I hope you burn in hell, you sorry ass mother fucking cunt."

B hitched up a brow, making the tiny stud he'd pierced himself wink in the light. "Mellylocks, wherever I go, I'll be sure to save you a seat. You, dear little Mail, and the sheep boy." Giggling at his squirrelly expression, B smacked Mello across the face. "Dollies look cute. Stop that."

"Fuck! Slapping me won't make me smile, you stupid dumbass!"

Funny, he was thinking the exact opposite. "Give me a smile, Melly-chan." B's smile darkened, taking on a whole new degree of manic rage. He bent over, teething the blond's ear and hissing softly. "Smile, or I'll sew up your fucking lips."

"…Jesus Christ." His whole body turned to ice in the chair, and Mello recoiled. B waited patiently, still smiling at him. "You're sick, you know that? Sick. Crazy. Out of your fucking mind." And even so, his little doll forced a weak smile. B's brow lifted higher, and Mello's smile matched it, trembling hard in its sheen of gloss and lipstick.

"Much better!" Maybe there was hope for Mello yet. He didn't want to lose one of his dear gifts, after all. That would be such a waste, after all the work he'd put into this little scenario. "Now dearie, I need to get you dressed." B cupped the made up face before him, crooning softly. "If I untie you, will you behave?"

Mello nodded weakly, averting his eyes. "I'll behave."

"Good, because if you don't..." the curling iron was lifted, still red hot. B clicked it at him, making the blond turn white under his sheen of makeup. "This little baby is going somewhere you really won't like." Smirking, he tossed away the curling iron. The belts holding Mello were torn away with barely a flick of B's wrist, and, grabbing Mello by a goldilock curl, he dragged him out of the room, moving down the hall back into his bedroom.

Pushing the naked blond onto the bed, B slammed the door closed and locked it, winking. "Safety first." He gently patted Mello's thigh. "Gotta protect my pretty doll. What if someone tried to steal you?"

"…y-yeah," Mello gagged on the word, curling his legs up against his chest. "That'd be such a pity."

Sarcasm. It was a real bitch. Highly unbecoming too.

"Oh...are you cold?" Spidery fingers fell to the bed, creeping towards Mello's leg. Flinching, his pet scooted back on the bed. "Are you sssuuurreee?" B's eyes narrowed warningly, the cracks of insanity coloring them nearly black. "I'd hate to think my hospitality was anything less than perfect."

Oh God in Heaven….those were the words he could see running through poor Mello's head. Funny. He was pretty sure he could think of someone who'd enjoy that a lot more. "Ngh…no, I-" he gulped, taking a shaky breath. "I'm fine."

B cackled inside his head. Was he already so broken? He didn't even know the full tale yet! "Well, you can't run around naked! So I'll turn down the air. Can't have my dolly overheating in his pretty clothes. Sweat is just disgusting." B did just that, then bounded over to his closet, smacking open the doors and peering inside. "I had a few dresses I picked out just for you…..where did I put them?" Dress after dress was thrown to the ground, littering the ground with a horde of laces and silks, until finally he withdrew two confections that looked as if they'd been made in a sugar factory. One was white and frilly, the other blue and bedecked in looping ribbons. "Which one?"

"Which one?" Mello stared at him, blue eyes looking down to the two dresses. He shivered, though cold really had nothing to do with it.

B wetted his lips, shaking the dresses. Ribbons and lacy cuffs fluttered in the air, and with a tightly pressed grimace Mello pointed to the blue. Goodie. That was the one he'd liked too. "Come here Melly," he purred, holding it out, the other dress promptly tossed away. Unsurprising, little Mello didn't move. "Mello….." he rattled the dress, whispers of silk on lace filling the air. "Don't make this difficult. I can _make _you put it on…."

Horror swept across his face, audible even under the makeup. "O-ok…" there was a slow pause, but Mello forced himself off the bed. He was wary, as any good doll should be, and B approached him with the dress. "Be a doll, Melly, and lean against the wall." He laid the dress aside, revealing the corset draped across his palm. "Go on…."

Biting his lip, Mello scowled once and rested his palms on the wall, fingers played. The corset wound its way around his torso, and B jammed a combat boot against Mello's back, tugging the laces hard. "Ahhh! The fuck are you trying to do? KILL ME?" Mello gasped for breath, wheezing. "Stop that!"

B giggled. "You must suffer for beauty, Melly dear." He yanked them harder. "Besides, I doubt any woman has ever died from a corset alone!" His boot forced Mello to all but straddle the cracking plaster, each ribbon pulled taut over his head.

"CHRIST! B, dammit, I can't breathe!"

"Nonsense!" Pulling him away from the wall, he bent Mello over the bed and straddled his backside, tugging the laces completely taut. "Suffering is all part of the process..." he pouted over that for a moment, holding the ribbons, and another sharp tug later he was tying them into a firm knot. Pausing, he took the laces back in hand and made a cute little bow. "There we go!"

Forcing his back to straighten, Mello cringed and took a few wavering gulps of air, slapping at B's hands. Christ, he could hardly breathe! "Fuck, what was the point of this?"

"It's cute." B tapped glossed lips, sliding off him. "Put your clothes on."

Mello growled. "It's not cute! I'm not a girl, B!"

"…." blinking red eyes, B turned to his drawer. "You reminded me." He piffled through the piles of lingerie, earning several jaw drops and gaping stares from his pretty companion. What? Gender lines were boring. He'd wear what he wanted, thank you very much. And really, frilly panties were overwhelmingly cute! "Ahh…" a pair of pristine white were withdrawn, complete with a cute blue bow on the front. "Here we go…" turning to Mello, B smiled a wicked little leer, holding out the underwear. "Put these on too. And!" White stockings, sheer and painfully feminine, joined the underwear in his hand. "These as well. They just complete the look, don'tcha think?"

Hatred didn't even begin to describe the look on poor, wee Mello's face. Snatching the stockings and underwear, he struggled to sit on the bed, a difficult feat considering his insides were being constricted by the tightly laced corset. B watched him manage to pull on the panties, but the stockings proved to be quite a challenge. Poor dolly. "Here Melly. Let me help you." B took the stockings back, rolling one down to the foot and positioning it against a pale limb.

Mello had such nice feet…

The fabric slid up his leg like butter, gliding all the way up to his thigh, and fingertips neatly traced the length of Mello's calf before moving to the other leg, repeating the process. "You're absolutely ravishing," B mewed at the blond. The dress was dumped onto the top of Mello's head, falling down to pool around his neck. Struggling, he yanked it down his body and groaned in discomfort. The tulle underskirts were itchy. "It fits!" Leaning over him, chin against Mello's shoulder, B reached around the thin waist and deftly yanked the dress' lace up ribbons, forcing it to constrict around Mello's waist. Mello hissed, sneering at him.

B was tempted to tell him that the look was hardly intimidating. Really, it was kinda cute.

"I hope the shoes fit. Those boots of yours are hard to judge by." Patting a lace and silk clad backside, he withdrew a dainty looking pair of Victorian boots, all white with matching blue ribbon laces, from under the bed. Mello frowned, pulling them on. They were a perfect size. "I guessed right! A perfect fit."

Mello looked away, propping himself on his elbows. In the Goldilocks getup, it only served to add proof to the china doll rant B had been spouting. ".…..what're you doing all this for, B?"

"Hmm?" B looked at him. Where had that come from? "What do you mean?"

"….you have to have a reason for doing all this. You mentioned a princess," he mouthed the word like it was an insult. "Is he is? Or are you doing this out of some sick need for entertainment? Are you bored?"

B tapped his fingers against his arm. Questions meant answers, and answers meant realizations…their time was up. …..pity. He'd been having such fun with their little game. "…...you want me to ruin the surprise." He smirked playfully. "I must confess, I didn't bring you here to share afternoon tea…."

"No shit. I got that much."

That continual cursing. How annoying. If Mello was a fishie, he would've taken great pleasure in cutting out his tongue. "Once upon a dream." Grabbing Mello by the arms, B spun him off the bed in a dizzying waltz, cackling gleefully. "It's all a whirlwind romance...a living fairy tale..."

Stumbling in the heels, Mello nearly fell over. Sure, he could stomp around in his pretty boots, but the minute he was on heels he was a klutz? So sad. "Wh-what?"

B dipped him, corset strings and dress creaking. "Would you believe me, Mello dear, if I said that I fell in love?"

"...with who?"

The tone of disapproval was only beaten by Mello's look of disgust, and...oh, was that sympathy? B frowned. What was there to feel sorry for? Surely not his beloved. And dear Melly didn't know the other tales, so really, he should be more worried about himself.

"Just a boy. Has the prettiest eyes I've ever seen." He sighed, a blush staining his cheeks. Or maybe it was just the makeup. "He's my princess in the tower, the beauty of the woods. The flower I want to pluck and cherish forever and ever..…."

Mello raised out of the dip, and B held him tighter. Just a precaution, of course. "So….this dearly beloved of yours got a name?"

Ruby eyes slit, blazing blood. "Of course silly! Everyone has a name!" B smirked, holding the pretty blond. Mello looked expectant, and he laughed, patting his curly hair. "So curious I see…"

"B." Mello frowned, petal lips dipping at the corners. "What's his name?"

"..." flitting lashes against his cheekbones, B went silent. Eager to know, was he? Stupid blond. Perhaps he was craving the role of the knight in shining armor. Awaiting the knowledge of the fair damsel's name, all to concoct a plan of escape in order to save dear lady's pretty little ass from the big bad monster.

Well, too bad! Gretel already got to leave one fairy tale. She didn't get another chance.

"...it's a lovely name...absolutely perfect. Yes..." he shook himself out of the stupor, smiling at Mello. "You'll know soon enough. For now though, think of him as…..Aurora."

"…..Aurora."

"Mhmmm…" B purred, his lovely's fair visage coming to mind. "He shines like the dawn, and has eyes brighter than any gold."

"Yeah. O-k." Mello chuckled, shrugging. "Pretty girly name for a guy."

…girly? B twirled him in another circle, then shoved Mello roughly against the wall. He yelped, boot heels scraping against the scarred and pitted carpet. "That's not very nice, Mellylocks. My darling has a beautiful name! Just because I don't grace you with its knowledge doesn't mean you should get all high and mighty with me." B tugged one of Mello's pretty curls. "My darling Aurora, the sleeping beauty…..I will have him. And you, Melly, are going to be a gift." A frown overtook his mouth. "Princesses like dollies, right?"

Mello either didn't catch on, or was genuinely stumped. Number two Wammy brat? How veeery impressive. Not. "Thought they liked Knights in shining armor."

"That's ME silly! I mean as gifts!" B shook his head, sighing dramatically. "Really, I thought you were smart."

Gritting his teeth, the blond tamed his tongue. The fury in his eyes couldn't quite be dampened though. "Try rare flowers, or maybe a magic mirror."

…..he'd almost forgotten how damn _annoying _Melly could be.

"Stupid. Flowers are cliché. And there's no such thing as magic mirrors." B wound a golden curl reproachfully around his gloved finger, twisting it back and forth, round and around. "But every princess has a favorite toy." Waiting, he smiled, the play of emotions on Mello's face a delightful treat to watch. He finally seemed to be getting it….really, it was about time. The games were up. There was only he and Mello, together, his dear Aurora's welcoming party in steady preparation. One final guest of honor, and then he could retrieve his beloved princess.

"…B…..what are you talking about?"

B only smiled, picking up a white silk sash from the top of his dresser. Threading it through Mello's hair, he made a neat bow on top of his head. There…perfect. "Melly, remember what I said." B frowned, pinching Mello's glossed lips. "Real dollies keep their smiles."

"But I'm not a doll!" Kicking his heels, Mello shoved him away. "Fuck B, what the hell are you even on about? Princesses, dolls-this isn't a fairy tale!"

"Yes it is…." a dark smile slowly began to spread over B's lips. "Although...my dear Aurora is rather manipulative..." laying his head to the side, he wobbled back and forth, rubbing a gory nail down Mello's cheek. "No...nono...I've been about this ALL wrong!" B glanced Mello over; he was enticingly cute in his frothy little dress of blue and white, clinging stockings and miniature boots perfect with his white complexion and rosy cheeks. "Dollies are lovely, yes...but Aurora pulls the strings. He likes to play with people..."

His smile kept getting bigger and bigger, until it took up his whole face in nightmarish proportions. "My princess doesn't need a doll...she needs a puppet! Or better yet..." B narrowed eyes, hands latching onto Mello's wrists and extending his arms wide, making him sway side to side. "A marionette."

"…o-oh God….."

There was nothing but terror on his face now. Terror, fear, and unmistakable horror. Mello fought to tear his arms out of the unyielding grip B had, but he couldn't. Like a puppet, his every move was being controlled by the older male. Only his lips were his own now. "No! You-you had this planned from the beginning, didn't you?" Mello stabbed his nails into pale palms, wriggling back and forth. "The kidnapping, and the makeup…all of it! You kidnapped me to turn me into your do-dol-"

"Doll?" B cackled. "Why yes, yes I did. You were the perfect choice. Your pretty face, and tiny figure…" his nails stabbed into Mello's arms, and he jerked him to his feet, drinking in his fear. Perfect! "I had to have you….no one else would do. You are the ideal doll, save for that ridiculous scar. But really, beggars can't be choosers!" B got in his face, purring. "Besides…..why use a stranger when you and dear Aurora have history?"

"History? What the fuck are you-!"

B threw him back against the wall. Mello crashed into it with a yelp, sliding down to the floor. "No more questions." Towering over the cutely dressed genius, he grinned down at him. "A pretty little marionette...one that never dies. Who can cry, breathe, dance, sing..." he tilted Mello's face up, red eyes glowing sadistically. "You'll be a living, breathing puppet, there only for his pleasure. His perfect, obedient TOY."

Mello smacked, kicked, anything to get him away. "NO! You fuck, I won't let you do this!"

Giggling happily to himself, B grabbed Mello by his doll curls. "You already have. By being such a good little pet, you proved that you CAN obey. You CAN take orders. All necessary requirements for a proper toy." B cooed, dragging him across the floor. Mello shrieked in pain, writhing, the pain blooming across his scalp like wildfire. "Now now, don't work yourself up into a frenzy." The locks to his bedroom door were all but torn open, the wood slammed aside, and B yanked the kicking blond across the floor. They went down the hall, passed through the living room, scattering china and debris, and Mello howled as he was tossed to the floor, limbs curling against his chest. He couldn't breathe, couldn't speak; there was too much pain, too much….

Just the way B liked it.

"You know what always annoyed me, Melly-chan?" B kicked him in his ribs, rummaging in a tiny old bureau decorating the room. "That damn Goldilocks. She was a selfish little bitch. She ate all of the bear's food, slept in their beds, and even used their chairs without permission! She was so damn greedy." He stood tall, glancing at the masquerading, precious creature on his floor. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Shuddering, Mello shook his head. B chuckled. "I think she should've been punished. If I were the bears, I would've made her be their servant. Or at least sucked the flesh off her bones, turn her into porridge." He thought about it, shrugging. "Fuck porridge actually. I prefer pot roast. Ooo, and stew!"

Delicious stew. Yummy roast. ….fuck, he had to check on dinner soon. It wouldn't do to serve his princess up an inadequate meal. Aurora would never forgive him.

Leaning out of the cabinets, B turned towards the blond. He was the perfect Goldilocks. Bright, pretty, rosy cheeks and golden curls. And Melly had to be punished, just like the sweet little doll in the fairy tales. He'd run away once, abandoning his tale, and now was trying to do it all again. "But really Melly, what kind of fairy tale lets the greedy little blond take, take and TAKE, without ever giving back?"

"…not sure," Mello tentatively replied, making to crawl away. B watched him, taking a step, a flash of silver glinting behind his legs.

"Really? I figured you, Mello, would have the answer to that. After all, you reaaally do have a lot in common with darling Goldilocks. Fair, clever, but in the end….selfish. Greedy. Abuser," B spat, laughter bubbling forth to mar his speech. "You use and use, and never once have you said thank you! Think about it…."

There, again. Silver glinted behind his legs, catching Mello's eye. "I don't-"

"You doooooo! Oh yes, yes you do. You always have, even back in Wammy days, my dear Mellylocks." Licking his lips, B moved closer, and closer. "You tormented your peers for your own enjoyment, including poor sheep boy. Matt, poor thing, became nothing more than a puppy, ready to serve your every beck and call. You even used Mattie-ma in you precious investigation, didn't you? In your hunt for Kira. After you ran away, of course. You left to make a fresh start. Your own tale." B widened his mouth into a hungry growl, tasting the thickening air. It was delectable, all the pain. "But then you came back. You were greedy. Goldilocks had to have it all, and so did you. So you took Hansel, your poor puppy. Matt, he was your little stooge….you used him, dried him up. Like a _husk_." His tongue wriggled in his mouth, clicking. "Poor boy."

"Wha-it wasn't like that! Matt was my friend! The fuck would you know anyway," Mello yelled, moving to pick himself up. "You were a sick bastard, even back then! You think we didn't hear the tales of all the shit you did?" Laughing hysterically, he kicked at B's legs, nails scratching the wooden floor. "You were a monster then, and you are now! Nothing's changed! Fuck, you want to turn me into a doll! What kind of person does that? HUH?" He kicked him again, his boots leaving marks on B's shins. "Well, I'm not gonna let you! Paint me up all you want, but I will never serve you, or your fucked up little princess! Hell, anybody that you love has to be fucking screwed up in the head anyway I bet he's some mental patient, all-"

B didn't give him a chance to finish. He had no time for the brat's whiny screams. The toe of his boot caught Mello in the side, beating his ribs through the corset. "So unappreciative…" he kicked him again, and a sickening crack drove Mello to sobbing cries, tears filling his eyes. A twin wound for the twins. "Stop that. You'll ruin your makeup."

"Fu-fuck-you-" Mello sobbed, clutching his side. "I'll kill you!"

Rolling his eyes, B kicked him again. "It's not my fault you didn't enjoy my hospitality while you had a chance. And consider it payback. I let you sleep in my bed, rest in my chair, eat my food, but did I get a thank you? NO!"

Bitter silence, unmoving lungs. The two merely stared at each other, Mello trembling in his dolly wear, B livid in his black dress and painted eyes. "…..she should be punished...Goldilocks should suffer for her crimes." He drew in a hasty gulp of air, feeling it tease his throat. Mello, poor doll, only stared at him in horror. The time for words was long gone. Nothing but gasps and choked cries were coming forth now. Well, B certainly wasn't complaining. He liked his dolls quiet. And if he was to hearken a guess, so did his Princess.

"I think the bears should make her their puppet..."

He lifted his hand, and a swinging hook dropped to the floor in front of Mello. Connected to a looping length of silver chain, it was wound tightly around B's hand, each silver lock thin, dainty. Just like Mello. And there were more too, in the cabinet. He'd bought plenty.

Marionette's had to have plenty of strings to pull.

"A beautiful little puppet…but more importantly," he thumbed the gleaming hook, letting it break his flesh and stain it red with blood. Mello screamed, only his ribs turned the sound into a wet, struggling battle for air. B could see the fabric of Mello's dress tented on the side, and three pinpricks of white stabbing through the thin silk. Dammit. He was broken. Hopefully Aurora wouldn't mind too much.

Good princesses were so very forgiving, after all.

"You're alive…..you can do things a normal dolly can't." B reached for him, pale fingers grappling in their sheath of lace. "You'll entertain dear Aurora for quite a while."

"B-do-don't-" Mello's arm shuddered in his hold. "Let me go-let me go, please-"

B only smiled, lifting the hook and chain. Let him go? That would ruin the tale.

He couldn't have that. Aurora was waiting for him.

"Time to pay the piper, Mellylocks."

_**I do hope the hooks and chains made it obvious as to what B is going to do. I thought about writing a more rated R version detailing the gory events, and I still might. But for now, you darling readers, as well as you dearies on DA, get this lovely piece of work. Now, let me explain something. As I said in the beginning, each tale will detail a specific Whammy boy meeting up with B, and they shall be compared to a classic fairy tale character. Mello? He was Goldilocks. Why? Well, his looks for one. C'mon, he would look amazing with china doll curls and a frilly blue dress XD But think about it. He used Matt all his life, constantly (if you want to believe popular themes) tormented his fellow peers, and never seemed to really care about taking things from others. He was, in a sense, rather selfish, and childish. Rather like Goldilocks. And since she always bore resemblance to a china doll in the fairy tales…..so too was Mello's fate. **_

_**Of course, he is far more like a puppet or marionette now, as B said. Heheh. **_

_**And yes, B was plotting to turn Mello into a doll from the very beginning. He was just very ADD about getting around to it. That's just his style. **_

_**Next up is The Tale of Little Mail. I wonder…do some of you already know what fate will befall him? If so, then make sure to mention it in a review! Though I hope you'll review anyway…..**_

_**Hope you all don't have too many nightmares, like my dear Mello that helped inspire this tale with our fantastic RP (that she hates and refuses to talk about .). But if you do…..oh well. Not my problem. You were warned!**_

_**Later lovelies!**_

_**~Shizuka **_


	2. The Tale of Little Mail

_**Time for the next tale you guys;) I told you I'd have it out quickly, and I try to keep my word more often than not. Besides, with the delicious feedback I've had on DA and , I couldn't resist getting to work and delivering this up for you all to enjoy! But before we get on with poor Mattie-ma's tale, there is someone that I just have to mention.**_

_**Aleatoric pasquinade on left me a riveting review that just had me in giggles. It was deranged, random, and so very flattering. I loved every second of it. So much, really, that I dedicate this tale to her. You were a peach, darling, and I hope that this tale makes you ramble and drool even more than the last!**_

_**Now, this is The Tale of Little Mail. To clear up any confusion, Mattie dear is not about to have any fishie elements added to his person. B, being the eccentric genius that he is, just adores his fairy tales, no matter the languages ;) And when translated into English, some foreign tales offer up very different character names than the ones we're used to. Such as…Little John-**__**à**__**Hansel. **_

_**With that settled, I bet you darlings are just squealing over what this tale shall offer. Just remember my warnings from the first . I will laugh at you if you come running to me about any potential nightmares. **_

_**One more thing…..in true Hatter style, this is a horribly backwards set of tales. Just throwing that out there. **_

_**Do enjoy this little slice of horror!**_

_Disclaimer: Death Note is not mine to own, sadly. I wish, but alas there's no such luck. It belongs to the creators. I just offer up twisted and sexy fanfiction for you all to read._

A pinch of this, a dash of that….ooo, maybe some of that too…he threw the spices into the pot, cackling as they splattered the tan colored broth inside and swirled into its depths. Already there were dozens of other herbs and flavorful thingies dotting the surface, some brown, others bright red. B dipped his finger into a particular pool of jumbled red and black near the edge of the pot, licking it clean. Mmm….spicy. But it needed something more. He looked at the spice rack installed above his stove, plucking a canister of garlic powder and dumping a good tablespoon into the soup. It was good for you! And Aurora, poor wretch, needed all of the extra fuel he could get. He was such a busy little B.

Wait…..that was rather backwards, wasn't it?

B slammed his butcher knife down onto the chopping block, breaking the thought. Carrots and potatoes turned to fleshy cubes under the touch, rolling off the wood and splattering the counter with juicy veggies. Giggling, he plucked one up and tossed it into the giant pot to his right. Broth splashed his wrist, staining the leather of his decorative armband. "Yummy yummy in the tummy."

Pushing the knife away, B dumped the rest of the cubed vegetables into the broth, stirring it around with a giant ladle more appropriate to a witch in her coven, or maybe a chef in some deep, dark palace. The first really was more fitting. He did have a witch's hat perched on his head, after all. It wasn't just there for show. ….well, maybe it was, but really now! He couldn't be a witch if he was a prince. Perish the thought! His princess deserved a handsome fiend on his arm, not some hag locked away in his kitchen, slaving away over a pot of stew and plotting the night away, children's limbs and meaty hocks on his menu.

"-Oh dear."

That was a horrible thought. He wasn't a witch! Not an ugly one anyway. Carabosse was pretty, right? No, wait, Maleficent was the attractive one. The bright eyes, full lips…though green skin really wasn't his thing. He preferred gold, or white. Especially when it was silky smooth, just like the pretty princesses in all the fairy tales. Soft skin, perfectly free of any blemishes, complexion rich as a rosebud-

SLAM!

B stabbed the knife into a block, jarring his thoughts away from the conjured images of his beloved. He was such a silly willy, getting off track so easily! And that just wouldn't do. He had to get everything prepared, lest Aurora arrive to a chaotic house with no refreshments awaiting those full lips.

More vegetables were put on the block. Metal through flesh, blade into food. Mmm, but he loved the sick wet sound the veggies made as they turned to bitable chunks. The familiarity held so much nostalgia for him, he almost couldn't bear it. The flesh even offered a little resistance, just like-a dull thud, the smell of raw potato hitting his nose. B blinked, staring down at cutting board. There was a sizable piece of crisp white flesh resting there, skin peeling, white splotched at the corner with bits of red. He looked at it again, then at the small cut wounding his right thumb. "….oops…" wiggling the bloody finger, he finally squeezed his hand into a fist, making the red trickle out from between his knuckles and splash the slick chopping board. "Silly me. I'm not for eating!"

Unless dear Aurora wanted to eat him. That was ok.

B giggled, holding his injured finger over the pot. Blood hit the liquid inside, and the two twirled together in an aromatic dance, until the red completely melded into the tan. "Waste not, want not!" That was what Roger always taught them. Roger was a horrible old bat though. If anyone would make an ugly witch, it was him. He had the nose for it.

Wiping both hands on his apron, a confection of pink gingham and lacy trim, B stuck the knife into the built in pocket and flounced over to the fridge. Yanking it open, he juggled an onion and several pieces of corn, tossing them over his head onto the counter. Yummy grain joined them, kept in a box, as well as a small container of beef broth he'd been saving since his last cooking session. Nothing said fine dining like homemade broth simmered from the fat legs of a cum sucking whore. Ooo, there was a vial of red in there too….maybe he could-

No. No. This wasn't for him. B slapped his hand, going back to the task at hand.

Corn was shucked and tossed into the oversized pot, chopped onion and the grains, mostly barley, joining suite. B stirred them into the thickening broth, thumb stinging as salt rubbed into the wound from the remaining spices clinging to his skin. The burn was delicious, and he laved the spot with his tongue, tasting pepper and Cajun seasoning. A hint of juice from the vegetables was there too, balancing out the heady spice. Just right. He didn't want things to get too heated. What if Aurora burned his mouth? He'd feel so ashamed! A princess shouldn't have to endure such meaningless pain. Being locked away was torment enough.

His hand touched naked wood, slick with juice. B blinked and looked into the pot. Corn and potatoes bobbed inside, floating amongst the tiny chunks of onions and globed peas. He looked again at his cutting board; that was all the vegetables.

…..he really had to stop drifting off like that. Horribly rude it was. "Hmm…" fingertip dunked into the now bubbling stew, he licked it clean. Yummy. It was thickening up nicely.

But now he needed the meat.

Frowning, he turned back to the battered fridge, yanking open the built in freezer door. Several frozen hunks of meat were layered inside, ranging from the classic steaks to the obscure. He was particularly fond of the sheep himself. Not too gamey, but succulent and rich with fat. Especially when harvested young. But none of the slabs and pieces were fresh enough for his princess. Aurora required only the best of meats. He was a beautiful creature, regal, with a mind of astounding ferocity. Such perfection had to be honored! And what better way than with a delicious, home cooked feast?

Lips were tapped with a crooked black nail. Fresh meat…..he'd been planning on saving his newest catch, fattening him up a bit more before serving him up fresh to dear Aurora, but circumstances apparently weren't going to allot for that anymore. He had to start cooking now, lest valuable time be lost. Smiling, more assured, B grabbed the cleaver, wiping it once, twice, on his frilled apron.

His princess would certainly adore the meal, if he cooked everything to perfection. There was nothing to fret about. He was a brilliant cook, when he put his mind to it. Living on your own, you had to learn such skills if you didn't want to survive off Ramen and pizza. And he hated both, so there was only one option. Of course, cooking was all about experimentation. His first several attempts had failed drastically. The meat had come out dry, or so raw it bled into the pan.

…he didn't have much of a problem with the bloody part.

B bounded out of the kitchen, carting the knife in his right hand. It clanged on furniture and the walls as he breezed through the living room and parlor. There it was, the door to what he'd originally thought was a closet, when he first took possession of the run down bakery in the outskirts of Shinjuku. Imagine his surprise! The 'closet' was a stairway, leading downstairs to what easily could've been a replica of the basement oven-room in Burton's oh-so lovely masterpiece Sweeney Todd. He felt perfectly at home, and the building had been claimed. Thank goodness it was abandoned. He didn't want to taint the pretty grinder with inferior meat.

Heavy boots thumped on the stairs, rickety wooden slabs nailed on a wobbly frame. B took them two at a time, whistling cheerfully. This was going to be grand! Still rather depressing, deviating from the schedule, but these were desperate times. He'd take what he could get.

Jumping off the final step, B spun into the basement and grinned wickedly, adjusting his apron and tattered hat. The point kept drooping, but it was his favorite. The little girl he'd stolen it from last Halloween had been so sweet. Although that could've just been all the candy she'd been cramming down her throat. "Oh daaaarling! Are you there?" He peered around the room, red eyes finally scoping out the rusty iron cage he'd erected in the far corner. Inside was a covering of hay, overlaid with some ratty old blankets he'd borrowed from the whore across the street. Not like she needed them anymore. But it was the figure wrapped in the covers that truly held his gaze. Hair dark as blood, skin like cream, save for the spattering of freckles across his nose. Blunt lashes, much shorter than his partner's, framed wide eyes that watched him in undisguised horror as he skipped over to the cage. "Hello dear! I'm so sorry I left you alone all night. Things to do, so little time." B plucked a stool from its shelf beside the cage, plopping down and smiling at his pretty captive, the knife lowered to the floor. "You forgive me, don't you?"

"…what do you want?" Limbs trembling, from cold or fear B couldn't tell, the puppy with midori eyes managed a scowl, naked fingers pale without their covering of leather gloves. He'd taken those the first day. Useless clothing. Besides, he always thought it was ridiculous, people dressing up their pets in frilly little outfits and matching collars. It just looked stupid. Clothes were for people, and dollies. Not food.

"That's not a very nice welcome," B pouted. "You act like you're not happy to see me!"

Deadpanning inside the cage, the redhead jerked his gaze away from the vivid eyes staring him down. "Sorry, but it's kinda hard to be happy to see the guy that's been torturing you. I'm sure you understand." He crossed his arms, muttering a soft "fucking psycho," under his breath.

B was kind. He pretended not to hear it. "Torture? Whatever do you mean?" Lips pursed, mimicking the scowl of his captive. "I've kept you safe, warm, fed you daily. Good food too, not that gruel Melly was shoving down your throat. I even brought you cigarettes! That hardly constitutes accusing me of torture." Snaking his hand through the cage, he ripped off the blanket covering his prey's body, laughing when he yelped and made a grab for it. "Ah ah. No need to be shy. It's nothing I haven't seen before!"

"Fuck you! Give it back!" Gaunt cheeks sallow in the firelight from the oven, Matt reached through the bars, unabashed pleading written across his face. "C'mon B! You already took my clothes away, and it's cold down here! Gimme a break!"

B pinched the blanket between his fingers, dropping it to the floor just out of reach. "Now you're just being a drama queen. It's not cold! There's an oven going full blast over there, making everything nice and toasty. That's why I've been keeping you down here, silly, instead of upstairs!" Giggling, he stuck his foot through the bars and kicked Matt in the thigh, pleased by the throaty yelp he got as a response. "You shouldn't complain so much, Mattie-ma. It's bad manners. Didn't you learn anything at school?"

Matt drew his injured leg up to his chest, both to sooth the growing bruise and shield his privates, which were painfully bare to the crazy sitting outside the cage. "Yeah, actually. I learned that psychos like you are the reason for death row." Giving him a dirty look, he pressed his spine to the wall, keeping plenty of distance between them. B couldn't help but giggle at the act. Such a skittish pup. It was a wonder Melly managed to deal with him, he was so high maintenance. Always off disturbing the peace, stealing and ruining the lives of any unfortunate soul who so much as looked at him the wrong way. B respected that about the blond. Fear was good. It was…interesting. But his caged pet…Mattie dear feared him, yes. He could see it in his pretty little eyes. Fear only went so far though, and the redhead was more angry than anything now.

That just wouldn't do. Anger turned the meat sour. Fear gave it that rich spice he was looking for.

"You're so cruel darling. Don't you believe in second chances? Wammy always said that any criminal could redeem himself, if given the time." Leaning forward, B crossed his arms over his knees and smirked, teething a bit of gloss off his lips. "So many of us are just locked away, never to see the light of day again! It's positively horrid."

"….poor you."

He could _feel_ the waves of sympathy rolling off the redhead. Now his relationship with blondie made more sense. They were both completely blasé. "Have you ever been in prison, Mattie dear?" B thumbed a metal bar, watching Matt from the corner of his eye. "I imagine not. All you'd have to do is bat those pretty little eyes, and any judge would melt, just like Roger used to do." He faked a sigh, rust crumbling on his skin. "Always the cute ones. They get away with everything…."

Hesitating against the wall, Matt dropped a leg, his entire stance taking a relaxed tone. Not that he was in any way relaxed. Oh no. He was a Wammy. Wammy boys weren't stupid enough to be so at peace around one another. Especially not those who'd committed murder. Multiple murders. Very bloody, gory murders. Murders dictated in astonishing detail by certain blue eyed trollops. "M'not pretty. But you're right; I've never been to prison. I know how to keep from getting caught, or hurt, for that matter." Matt smiled, but it was ugly. Mocking. "Unlike some. Forget how to stop, drop and roll?"

B blinked, lips spreading. There was that cheek he so loved. It was a favorable trait. One of the redhead's few, considering his lax personality and unflinching repertoire of gaming and cigarettes. "Now Mail," he crooned, patting a head of untamed hair, "no need to talk about Melly here. I understand you two have a lovely master-pet relationship, but he can't punish you for disobedience if we keep it a secret between us boys." B drew a finger across peach lips, giggling. "I won't say anything if you don't."

"Screw you!" Livid, rage burned like wildfire in his pet's eyes. "We're not like that, you sick fuck!" Matt pushed his hand away, teeth snapping and face set in a putrid glare. How quickly he lost his temper. Melly had such a horrible effect on people.

"Oh? Aren't you?" Drawing it back, B gripped metal tightly and swung off the stool, crouching down on his haunches before the cage. The position put them at identical heights, forcing midori to meet vivid sanguine. Not often people got a good look at his eyes.

Funny. That swung both ways.

"No, we're not!" The redhead continued to glare at him, gaze unwavering. B knew he wouldn't back down. Timid he was, but the pup wasn't a pushover. He followed Melly out of love, not obedience….well, maybe a bit of both. The collar he'd stolen from Mail's pretty throat at the beginning clearly spoke of his and Mello's more raunchier times alone. Strange, considering it was never mentioned once his captive awoke less than a week ago. Perhaps he was embarrassed. Or just stubborn.

Looking at Matt, who growled under his breath, he nodded. Definitely stubborn.

"Don't be like that. I didn't mean anything by it." Inching closer to the cage, B pressed himself to the bars and reached back inside, offering a slick and seasoned palm to the redhead. "Mattie-ma….."

Matt looked at it, lashes hooding brilliant green. He looked oddly sexy when he did that. More appetizing too. B could eat him up. Sink his teeth into that creamy skin, tear open his stomach and feast on the innards, all steaming and gooey. "Go to hell."

"Oh, I will," he grinned, wiggling his fingers. "Want me to tell your boyfriend hello when I see him?"

Instant explosion. Matt threw himself at the bars, grappling madly for B's throat. Flesh tore on the floor, seeping blood across the dingy grey, and he slid in the wetness, smearing more across his knees and inner calves. "What did you do with him?" Pale fingers near touched B's throat, blunt nails scouring the skin. Snarling and spitting a plethora of curses, some in a heavy accent he was quick to recognize as Irish, or maybe Scottish, Matt made another lunge for him, snagging a few finger's worth of shaggy black. "Where is he?"

B was yanked against the metal, forehead smashed and flaking pieces of red. Dried blood, rust; they looked so similar. He licked his teeth, bars making the action rather difficult, as one was pressed to each side of his face. He had to look silly. Mattie-ma should've been laughing. Not often you had a serial killer making fishie lips, all while dressed in a witch's hat and pink apron. "Where's who," he purred, earning another hard yank on his hair. "There's no one here but you and me….."

"Bullshit!" Seething, the gamer seemed quite ready to tear each strand of black out of B's scalp. Irritating that. He was quite fond of his hair, and Mattie-ma was completely ignorant to the amount of care he'd put into his hairdo today. Did he even know how much gel it took to get those untamed spikes so many little brats simply rolled out of bed with? And there was the flat ironing, and the blow drying….tedious and tediouser.

…was that even a word?

B cackled to himself, much to Matt's shock on the cage. "The hell are you laughing at," he grunted, keeping hold, though his shoulders recoiled at the grating sounds. It was worse than nails on a chalk board. Unless they were B's nails, which were oddly….talon shaped. More like claws than anything. "S-stop laughing!" Matt shook him, panic flitting across his pale face. "I swear B, if you don't shut up I'll fucking throttle you!"

"With those scrawny arms? Not a chance darling." Winking, B slipped out of the redhead's hold as if he were no better than slime, oozing down flat onto the floor, skirts fluffed and sticking out around his legs. "Look in the mirror sometime, little Mail. You're not exactly a Goliath. You couldn't slay a rabbit, much less a dragon like me."

Matt, still shaking with rage, forced himself to settle down. Brain on overdrive, B could all but see the thoughts clicking together inside his head. Poor darling. He really was trying to control himself. But what chance did a little boy stand, especially against the big bad witch? He couldn't do anything without his precious Gretel anyway, and his time had yet to come. Another tale, and a whole different slew of torture B really did need to prepare for.

"Dragon?" Matt, likely unaware of the wandering his kidnapper's mind had taken, drew his attention back. Poor him. "Thought you were a witch," he muttered, covering his privates with a pale hand and glowering when B deliberately smirked at them, a flush coloring creamy cheeks and tainting them a lovely shade of rose. "Quit looking at me like that."

"Looking at you like what?" Teasing, B thumbed his bottom lip. The act was far too akin to a certain detective, drawing a shudder from the redhead. Even with the witch's hat, and frilled apron, he bore a creepy resemblance to L, and it was the exact opposite of comforting. "Hmm…?" Cocking his head to the side, B eyed him with wide, dark eyes. "Mary got your tongue?" Pincer nails clicked, moving towards his mouth. "Better open up, let me have a peek….."

"Don't touch me!" Matt slapped at the groping claws, feeling one scratch his palm. B smiled, satisfied, and pulled his hand away. Much better. Mattie-ma had never been close to Lawli, but he'd seen the detective enough to match a resemblance when he saw it. And B…he was master of being the dear man's copy. Years of practice, tales galore, all of which had gotten back to the orphanage of his youth. B had made sure of that. However, that was then, and the tales had changed after his…._unfortunate _run in with Misora, the ugly hag. B grimaced at the memory, pressing up to the bars of Matt's cage. Rusted metal grazed his left cheek, and the mottled tissue still lingering, always haunting.

Burned, scarred almost past recognition, at least before the massive skin grafts L had commissioned, he'd been a mite bit terrifying. Still was, though for entirely different reasons. But the reasons didn't matter, so long as the cute redhead staring at him like he was a spider to be squashed was scared. Fear got the adrenaline pumping, flooding muscles and skin with the sweet inner juices. The more scared the prey got, the better the taste. That was B's opinion anyway.

Pity for Matt; his was the only one that mattered.

"Hush now. You'll tire yourself out if you keep that up." Jowls curved, a wide smile fixated on the wide eyed teen. "We're getting off topic anyway." B wagged a finger at him. "How rude, distracting me. We have limited time, and you've been wasting it with all your whining!"

"Wh-whining?" That got a barking laugh from the redhead, Matt's face screwed up with irritation. "You're the one who-"

The digit was pushed into Matt's mouth, pressing down on his tongue. "As I was saying." B smirked, applying steady force, "I came here to talk to you. Or rather, ask for your help. I'm holding a little get together here in a few days, and it has to be very special. The guest of honor is someone quite…dear to my heart." His eyes sparkled at the thought of said guest, visions of slender limbs and intelligent looks creating a delicious warmth in his chest. He felt Matt snap at him, limbs quirking, and B drew the wet digit down his cheek, giggling to himself. This was going splendidly. "Well, that might be a bit of an understatement. Aurora dear is the blood in my coffee. The spoon for my jam. He's the very reason for my existence!"

Matt was recoiling with each and every word, green irises dark with worry. Oh, could he be concerned for the one who'd won B's heart? Or was he merely worried that whoever had won his love was as twisted and demented as the psychopath himself? "….you're in love?"

"Don't sound so disbelieving," B scolded. "That's mean. Anyone can fall in love, if they find the right person. Didn't you fall head over heels for Melly?"

"Well-yeah, but Mello-!"

Shushing him again, the elder male smirked. "No buts. We're two peas in a pod, you and I. We both found our true loves." Sighing wistfully, B rose to his feet and drew a key from the pocket of his apron. "Of course, you certainly could've chosen better. Look at what Melly's gotten you into! Had he left you alone, never spoken to you, I wouldn't need your consultation. After all, separate Hansel and Gretel, and you just have two temperamental children. Together they're quite a team, but apart….." he smiled, and the look chilled Matt to his very bones.

"You…said you needed my help?"

B snickered. Social skills really weren't Matt's forte. He had not an iota of talent for the guiding of conversations. His role was to offer support, be the clever and silent brother, lover. "You know, I wonder what would've happened to poor Hansel, had Gretel never led him astray. Would he ever have gone into the woods? Been locked in the witch's cage?" He pushed the key into the lock, rust flecking off the bars as the door slowly swung open. "And sweet Gretel; I doubt she would've stayed out of trouble. She always struck me as the adventurous type."

The gears were churning, but drugged from the cold and fear. Matt could only give him a hesitant look, taking back the blanket B offered him and wrapping it around his hips. Poor thing, he was trembling so hard, it might as well have been his first time walking on land. But that was silly! He wasn't the little mermaid. Not that his voice was unpleasant. B just had no interest in his tongue. There were far better choice cuts to choose from. "Sure. Gretel was a regular spitfire." Matt stepped outside the cage, feet shuffling on the dingy concrete. He curled his shoulders in when B shut the door, metal screeching, and there was definite unease in the way he held onto the blanket. Like such a silly thing would protect him. "B-what are we doing?"

"Don't get your boxers in a bunch. I told you; you're going to help me," B rolled his eyes. "Has all of Melly's shrieking left you deaf?" Bending over, he plucked up the knife he'd brought downstairs, flipping it blade, then handle, then blade again. "What is it with you silly boys? You trail after anything with a cute face and bitchy attitude. Hansel, you…" the knife his palm, the plastic handle clenched violently. "You know what I think? I think, if given a chance, Gretel would've wandered off, maybe found another tale to ruin. She was the troublemaker, after all. _She_ led Hansel into the woods. _She _left him in the cage. And it was dear Gretel who pushed the witch into the oven, denying the poor woman her hard earned meal!"

Matt paled, covering a twitch with a breathy cough. "Um, yeah. I guess so. Never really looked at it that way. I mean, the witch was plotting to eat them from the beginning, right?" His eyes skated toward the stairs. "She was the bad guy, the witch I mean. Going after a couple of innocent kids."

"Innocent?" B frowned, and the knife turned on Matt, point brushing his throat. Matt went ice cold, staring at B in horror. "How were they innocent? Tricking the witch, pushing her into her own oven. That was just overkill. All she wanted was a good meal. Candy house or not, I bet it was hard, luring fresh meat in all the way out there in the woods." The knife nudged a trembling adam's apple, only the softest of pressure being applied. "I feel her plight."

"I…never thought of it like that." Clearly trying to placate him, Matt smiled, though the unease wasn't easily veiled. "But they were just kids. You can't put all the blame on them."

Letting the knife quiver, B slowly lowered it to his side. "So sure about that, Mattie-ma?" He gave the gamer a cruel smile and left the basement, boots sounding like gunshots as they stomped down onto the wood of the stairs, leading him back up into the heart of the place he'd begun to call home, however temporary. For now, it was the only place he had, and he was determined to make it perfectly homey for when Aurora came. The abandoned furniture had been polished till it shone, and the rooms cleaned to perfection. That only left the remaining cooking, not to mention Aurora himself. He still had to be rescued. That would come, soon enough. It was too early to think of such things; he couldn't afford to overexcite himself.

There was a sound of steps behind him. B was tempted to leer at the redhead he knew was following him, but restrained himself to a simple chuckle. "That eager to get out? I didn't think the basement was so bad. You should try being trapped in a body bag."

"Y'know, I think I'll pass," Matt caught up to him, still holding the blanket around himself. Useless coverage, not that it would be there for long. "Kinda wanna ask though….why-?"

"Ah-ah." B went into the kitchen, setting the knife down on the counter. "That's none of your concern. And if you reeeally wanna know, then figure it out yourself. You're number three for a reason."

Stepping into the kitchen, green eyes flitted around the surprisingly clean room with all its utensils and cookery lying about, his expression shifting from curiosity to trepidation. "Mello says the same thing." A spark of rage glowed in the midori. He hadn't forgotten what B had said earlier, and it was obvious. B grinned, picking up the ladle and dipping it into the pot on the stove. The stew was thickening nicely. However, meat was still needed.

"Of course he does. I bet he just hates wasted intelligence." He offered the ladle to Matt, the broth inside steaming. "Blow first. It's a bit hot."

Matt stared at the utensil, dumbfounded. Really, was it that difficult a concept to figure out? B pushed it to his lips. Those video games were surely rotting his brain, if the simplest task was beyond his comprehension. Melly should feel ashamed of himself, allowing his dear Mail to transcend to such a plane of stupidity. He really was going to end up no better than stupid Hansel. Or little John, if you preferred German terms. After all, most fairy tales originated in Europe, and B especially favored the older versions. Much darker, and more interesting. "You're supposed to have a taste," he explained. "It's not poisoned, I promise. I just want your opinion."

"Uhuh…" his gaze jumped from the ladle to B. "My opinion."

"That's what I said," B practically cooed. "It's always wise to have an outside opinion when cooking. My palate is different than yours, and since this is for Aurora, I need to make sure it's perfect!"

"Auro-oh fuck it, never mind. I guess that's the codename for your lovebird?" Matt grimaced. "The fuck is up with you and the fairy tales man? Pretty sure we're both adults here. Even if you did lock me in a cage." That alone was reason enough to run away screaming, not counting B's history. "So, you want my opinion on….whatever the hell that is." Taking another look at the vegetables floating in a good helping of gravy thick broth, Matt sighed and carefully took the offered sip, brows furrowing as the liquid teased his tongue.

"…it's soup."

Soup? The hand that held the ladle went limp, dropping to B's side. He gawked at the gamer, his head slowly cocking to the side, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Soup….." his chest heaved, a terrible feeling overwhelming him. "Sooouuup?" He swayed on the spot, rage tainting his vision red…oh wait….. "That's what you think?"

Matt hitched a thin brow. "Well, yeah. That's what it tastes like. Looks like it too. What else could it be?"

Silence. The fire underneath the pot crackled, liquid bubbling, and yet it all seemed to be on the back burner, the room turning deathly quiet. B couldn't believe his ears. "Soup….soupsoupsoup….." a bubble of laughter broke from his lips, and he lashed out at the redhead, swinging the ladle like it was a hatchet and nailing Matt right in the temple. "It's not soup, you stupid idiot! It's STEW! How dare you insult my culinary arts!" He hit him again, harder this time, and the redhead yelped in pain, covering the spot with his hands and stumbling backwards. "Don't you know anything?"

"Ow! What the hell did I do?" Matt hit the floor and scrabbled away from the looming menace, backing up into a counter and staring at B, eyes wide as saucers. Somehow, this was frightening, instead of the comical image it should've been, considering B was wearing a pink fucking apron and witch's hat. Maybe it was the crazed look in his eyes, or the other hand with nails more like black painted claws, that had Matt whimpering in fear and cowering against the painted wood. "I just said it was-!"

"Don't. Fucking. Finish that. Sentence." A growl permeated each word, quickly shutting him up. "…..how dare _you_….." nails clenched, and bright speckles of blood dripped to the floor, forming a small painting beneath B's hand. It was a terrible waste of flavoring, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

_How dare he! _

In one short little sentence, Matt had completely turned his world upside down. Soup, soup he'd said! B laughed, his giggles maniacal and more like sobs. The brat didn't know the difference between a stupid soup and a stew! How was that even possible? There was every difference in the world! Soups were thin, classless; it took skill to make a proper stew. The broth had to be thick, savory, but not too thick to choke up the taste buds. There were vegetables that could make and break the taste, and the choice of meat was crucial! Soups could contain pig guts, they were so cheap. A stew, common or designed to tantalize those of richer station, were still far superior on the culinary tower. That was why B had chosen it; Aurora, his precious princess, was surely classically trained in the arts of fine dining. His intelligence would insure that. He would be able to tell the difference between a soup and stew, no doubt about it.

Yet Matt…..he'd taken one taste, and-B snarled.

Maybe he could chalk it up to Matt's untrained palate? After all, his taste buds were likely ravaged from years of chain smoking, and it wasn't like he really knew what good food was. He'd seen the inside of Matt and Mello's fridge; the contents were pathetic, all takeout and sandwich makings. But this was stew! STEW! Who didn't know what stew was? There was every difference in the world, especially in taste! And had Matt a single brain cell alive that wasn't fucking dedicated to beating Sepiroth, or saving Princess Peach, then maybe he would've used that pretty tongue of his to actually taste what was being put in his mouth! "Ignorance," B hissed, throwing the ladle away. It hit the tiled kitchen floor with a loud clatter, and Matt jumped, crawling into the corner created by the fridge and counter. He looked terrified. Good. Let the brat cry, scream, call for his darling Gretel. He wasn't coming to save him.

"Oh Mattie-ma, dearest Mail-" B broke into laughter again, tearing at his hair under the jaunty hat. "Sometimes I wonder just what happened to the Wammy curriculum after I left. You're clueless! I bet Melly is too! You just have no idea-no idea at ALL-!"

Staring at him in pure shock, Matt bristled at the mention of Mello. "What's your deal? You don't know anything!"

"I don't?" Laughter morphed into a shriek, a boot colliding with the cabinet beside Matt's head and cracking the wood. "At least I know the difference between a soup and a stew! You little brat, how can you be so fucking stupid? What's not to get? It's a stew! It's thicker! There's more flavor!" B kicked the cabinet again, and his foot went clear through the wood, making splinters fly across Matt's face. He yelped, shielding his eyes.

"That's what you're mad about? You fucking psycho! Big deal!"

"It's a huge deal!" B's foot drove into Matt's ribs this time, pinning him to the broken surface. "Aurora! This is all for Aurora! Everything has to be perfect! Maybe you and your stupid boyfriend are willing to settle for second best, but not me! I won't have my love's palate tainted by inferior food!"

Matt screamed, grappling at the heavy leather. "Get off! You asked for my opinion! I gave it!" Wheezing, he felt bones shifting under his skin, bile coating the back of his throat. "You're gonna break my ribs! B, stop! Freaking psychopath! I-I'm sorry, ok? I thought it was a soup, but I was wrong!" Breathing becoming hard, Matt gasped, and there was a clear sounding crack as B drove his foot into his side once again. "Fuck!"

No mercy. B kicked him harder, enjoying the sound of his bones crunching and snapping. "Sorry? _Sorry_? You have no idea what sorry is, Mattie-ma! You're just like Hansel! You take and take and take, but the minute my back was turned, you turn on me! After everything I've done too! My generous hospitality, completely overlooked!" The heel of his boot landed a stray blow to Matt's groin, and the redhead gasped, doubling over.

"I'm sorry!" Clawing at the tile, tears began to pool in his eyes, sprinkling the gleaming surface. "I-I just-there's no meat! All the stews I've ever had, they a-always had some kinda meat in 'em!" He wrapped trembling arms around his waist, breathing heavy. He was grappling for straws, and the lack of any protein in the soup had been the only flaw he could really pick out. "Stop! Please!"

B lifted the boot, ready to kick Matt again, when his who body went stone cold. He might as well have seen Medusa, he was so frozen. "….no…meat?" He blinked once, turning to the stove. The stew remained unharmed, bubbling gently in its cauldron sized pot. Herbs floated across the top, scattered daintily between the vegetables. Yet there was no meat, just as Matt had said. And of course there wasn't! He hadn't added it yet! Hadn't even begun to carve it, much less skin the hock it would come from. So of course the stew would be lacking! It was missing the key component. Without it, the broth would be far thinner, lacking in the rich flavor of a stew; it really would appear more like a soup, much as his dear little Mail had said. That was no reason to throw a fit. Mattie dear had only been telling the truth, as all good boys did.

"Dear me, I've been acting so silly." Had Aurora seen his tantrum, he surely would've chastised him. That wasn't proper behavior for a knight, much less a prince. "….you're right though." B murmured softly, licking his bottom lip. No reason to panic, not at all. Aurora would still have a fine meal to look forward to, as soon as he collected the final ingredient. There was nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. He'd simply panicked. It wouldn't happen again.

"I…I'm right?" Matt cradled his injured side, shifting between anger and fear. "You bastard! You br-broke my ribs, and I was right all a-al-along?"

"Stop whining. It's pathetic." Swiping the knife off the counter, B thought twice and put it back. That wouldn't do. Scrawny, but far too thick for such a thin blade. He slipped the cleaver out of the standing block beside the stove, admiring the silver colored edge. Much better. Maybe he'd cut off some extra meat, put that grinder downstairs to good use and make a few pies. "I do apologize though, Mattie-ma. Roger always said my temper would get the best of me." He crouched down beside the redhead, patting his head. There was sweat on his brow now, caused by the jutting bone B could see poking through the pale skin of his side. Pity he wasn't that fond of ribs; those would make for a lovely rack. "I suppose he was right."

"…B…..?"

B smiled. There was a promise of pain in the way he looked at Matt, and the gamer knew it. His time was up. Time to draw this tale to a close. "Mail." He purred, running his thumb across the blade. "You know, I remember you as a little boy. You wore the cutest little overalls! Melly used to poke fun at you, but then I saw him wearing a matching pair. He must've done it to make you feeeeel better, when all the other orphans teased you for looking silly." Snickering, the cleaver caught a lock of garnet hair and cut free a knot, Matt's horrified gasp soft and teary. "It was adorable. You two could've been twins, the way you clung to each other!"

"Don't-B, please, don't-"

The time for pleading was long over. "Now now, begging? Do you really think Hansel begged the witch when she was going to stuff him into the oven?"

Matt recoiled. "This isn't a stupid fairy tale! Get a grip! There's no damn Aurora, or talking bears, or witches who eat little kids!"

The cleaver tapped Matt's throat, a clear warning from psychopath to victim. "That's where you're wrong. Every tale has a spot in reality. Some are even based off true stories, and real people." A Cheshire grin spread across that pale face, teeth gleaming in the soft kitchen light. "Mail. Did you know that, in the German version of Hansel and Gretel, Hansel was actually called Little John?"

Taking a shaky breath, the redhead shook, no longer in control of the pumping fear in his veins. It flooded his entire body with thick juices, warm and rich with tasty spices. "No…."

B patted his cheek. "Not surprising. Fantasy wasn't really important in Wammy's House. I thought it was cute though, since your precious Melly is German, right? He looks it. The perfect little Aryan boy, all golden hair and blue eyes." Fingernails rasped down Matt's skin, a cold whisper making goose bumps crawl down his spine. "Or maybe he'd make a better Goldilocks. I can see him stealing porridge, and sleeping in a stranger's bed." His smile turned cruel, ruthless. "After all, he slept in yours. And you two are nothing more than strangers now, since Melly ran away all those years ago."

"S-shut the fuck up," Matt stammered, trying to sound angry. He only succeeded in looking even more the scared little boy, cowering in the face of danger. And danger wore an apron and pointy hat. "You don't know us!"

"No, I think I do. Melly abandoned you. And you went running after him, like a desperate puppy." B laughed. "Oh, it really is just like Hansel and Gretel! Just different! Melly went to start his own tale, and left you all on your lonesome! Poor, sweet Little Mail!"

"He didn't leave me! It wasn't like that! I-" green looked into red, and Matt's eyes flew wide, horror shrouding the bright emerald. "O-fuck….Little Mail? But you-you said the German Hansel was" the gears clicked into place, far too late. Matt screamed, tried to get away, his hands slipping on the speckled tiles. "No! Get away from me! You're crazy!"

B watched him crawl, his protests all but ignored. Let him try to get away. "You can't go anywhere," rising to his feet, he loomed over the smaller male. "Don't you remember what I said, about Hansel? Little John? If he and Gretel were separated, what would happen to him?"

"Shut up!" Matt made it behind the counter, nails cracking from pressure as he dug them into the grout, sobs heady and a tonic for B's pounding heart. The adrenaline, fear; it radiated in the air, flowing thick through Matt's veins. Finally. Now the meat could be harvested, and added to the stew he would feed to his beloved. There would be good food all around. "Leave me alone! Oh fuck, you freaking-"

His foot closed over Matt's hand, pinning each limb to the floor. Matt howled, even though B was hardly pressing, and looked at him in such terror that B couldn't help a hungry growl. The sight of it all was enough to make his mouth salivate. "Hansel….poor Hansel…." he pushed a bit harder, satisfying cries music to his ears. "Doomed to such a terrible fate. Poor Gretel left to find his own fairy tale, and Hansel, so eager to find his other half, went after him." B looked at the cleaver in his hand. Good thing he'd taken it for a recent sharpening. The way Matt was squirming, it'd take forever to get to the good part of the meat. "Into the woods he went, and the witch's house he found. But with no Gretel there to save him, the witch locked him away, fattening him up day, after day, after day…"

"Shut up! You can't do this!"

"You're right." Dropping to one knee, B swung the cleaver down, and it cracked the tile beside Matt's head, making him scream. "I can't complete the tale. Not like that. I'm no witch. I'm not even a wolf. I'm just a prince, in love with his dear princess." His hat seemed to sink at that, and he knocked it off, barely sparing it a glance. "But for Aurora…..I'll do anything to make him happy. Anything. Even slave away over a hot stove, because Aurora deserves anything his heart desires. The finest furnishings, richest foods, and nicest toys…."

Matt sobbed, tears flowing into the crack. There was a mantra of no and you can't do this on his lips, tainting them pink, each one more raw than the last. B enjoyed them, for the fear was potent, perfect picking. "However, you'll have to forgive me. For I'm afraid, little Mail, that the witch and I never saw eye to eye on one part of the tale. You see, cooking children in an oven? That's sooo stupid! Where would you get an oven big enough to fit a whole child?" He cackled, wrenching the cleaver free and brushing the tip through ratty hair. Matt squirmed, crying freely, and B planted a knee into his lower back, earning an even louder scream. "But boiling, now that's much easier! You can cook the meat in smaller amounts, pick the choicest pieces. It's efficient! And boiling your food is much healthier too! Aurora will appreciate my looking out for his health, don't you think?"

"B-you can't….fuck, please don't…." Matt writhed, trying to move, kick him off. Anything. "Don't!"

The pot on the stove was close to boiling over; B could hear it. There was no time to waste. It had to be now or never. "Shhh. Hush Mail. It'll all be over soon." Lifting the cleaver, he glanced at his reflection in the bright metal. He looked demented, his smile and hair every which way. Shame. He'd have to fix that, before Aurora's visit preferably. Couldn't scare the poor princess, not before they got to know each other better. That just wouldn't do. He didn't want to be like Mary Shaw, turning kiddies into dolls out of terror. There was a time and place for that.

"Fuck you! You sick bastard, you'll pay! Mello will-he'll stop you!"

B smirked. "Gretel? He left the tale. Weren't you listening?" The cleaver shimmered, his fingers spidery white against the handle. "I always thought Melly made a better Goldilocks anyway. Though if you're good and die quickly, maybe I'll be nice and give him something better than porridge to feast on." He thought about it, laughing wickedly. "Hey! You'll be feeding true love! Literally!"

A long, piercing scream echoed in the air, Matt's limbs smacking the tile. B ignored it, and slammed the blade down.

The meal was only supposed to be for Aurora, but all those screams, the sound of flesh shredding. Denying Melly a taste would just be cruel, after all their hard work. Yes, that was that. He and Aurora would just have to share. He could always make that rack of ribs, if push came to shove and there wasn't enough food. He doubted that would be the case though. A good stew was filling enough on its own, and the taste was universal.

B wrenched the cleaver back, the writhing beneath his knee stilling to a gentle twitch. There was blood flecking his cheek and jowls, and he licked it away, the taste divine. Exactly as he'd thought. Aurora would love it. After all….

"Who doesn't enjoy a good, old fashioned Irish stew?"

_**Yep. I'm a sick, twisted person. Sue me XD **_

_**That was the Tale of Little Mail. Quite gruesome, wasn't it? My inner Matt revolted something fierce several times while writing this. But, in the end, B had his way. How very unsurprising. ;) And I hope some of you caught the hints about the layout of these tales. They aren't overly important to the plot, but definitely make things more interesting. **_

_**Keep your eyes peeled for the next in this series, "The Tale of Sheep Boy." And make sure to leave a review on your way out!**_

"


End file.
